


under watchful eyes

by dharma22



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Hair-pulling, Kissing, Rough Kissing, Soft kissing, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, a lil angst, but some, not much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:06:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dharma22/pseuds/dharma22
Summary: Fenris wants nothing more than to feel Siggy Hawke's lips against his own after a brush with death. When she finally relents with her sly game, he's upon her within seconds. Much to their equal shock, the Hawke Estate wasn't as empty as they originally thought.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Kudos: 15





	under watchful eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what to rate this as so I'd rather air on the side of caution and go ahead and rate it as mature. That said, there is not sexual content or even mentions of it. This was a prompt on tumblr and I've changed some things from the original posted on Tumblr. Otherwise, it's pretty much the same! Enjoy!

Hawke was a sick, twisted creature. The way she read him made him feel as if he were a book laid out bare, flipped to a page filled with naughty secrets, and written in a language intrinsic to who she was. It had taken him years to navigate the labyrinth that was Siggy Hawke and even now, three years into a love affair worthy of a few ballads, Fenris felt as if there were days the woman was just too…baffling. But Hawke had no troubles whatsoever with him. It was as if from day one, she was tuned into his frequency with eerie accuracy, like she’d known him all her life. 

Today, she could sense his urgency like one senses the eyes of another upon their back. He knew she could because of her _fucking_ maddening pace. To part ways with their group, to wind through the streets of all Kirkwall’s too many towns, to find her Maker damned key to her estate. The last part was by far the most tortuous part of her slowness. So close, the taste of her already on his tongue, the feel of her milky skin like a ghost in his hands, the smell of her hair burning in his nose, and yet it was all (literally) locked behind a door because _Siggy_ was so amused by making him wait. 

One time, a bandit of no importance had sneered and said Hawke was a tricky little bitch. Fenris would _never_ speak ill of the woman, but currently, he could not disagree. 

She drew out his torment because she knew the reward would be so intense she could hardly stand it. To say that Fenris felt things with a fierce intensity was an understatement. He was not a man who felt anything lightly. Through careful cultivation and extreme patience, he’d managed to dull the edges of that intensity to a point where he was no longer consumed by rage and distrust. But there were other things, things much further from the firm grasp of his control, that would not consume him, but flood him and leave him slightly dazed.

His passion was one of them.

When it came to his relationship with Hawke, his control was not as refined. Quite often would he be completely taken by his feelings for her, the desire to touch her, to feel her warmth, to smell her so powerful that he would feel a gnawing compulsion to fulfill them. If denied the chance, he could suppress the urge. But it would only grow in intensity. Where it began as a fast-paced stroll through the woods, it would end as an all out chase up the mountain. 

And she loved that.

Hawke knew his kisses would become desperate and messy. His touches would be heavy and linger for centuries. His voice would deepen and crawl into her very being, fill her up and leave no room for anything besides that. 

So when they finally pushed past that threshold into her house, he was upon her in an instant. 

Before their foray into the Storm Coast (which culminated in Hawke’s brutal brush with death), she’d made a comment that Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana had the day off, leaving the house completely empty. The invitation in her eyes had been unmistakable and Fenris would be here anyways. But that was before Hawke was nearly beheaded. 

Thankfully, that blasted mage Anders had been there, quick with his aid and resolute in stitching back together the many sundered vessels and skin of her neck. 

Fenris could still feel the sickeningly hot slipperiness of Hawke’s blood as it spilled through his fingers. That is why he so hungered to run his fingers through her hair. Replace the sensation of something so terrifying, so wrong with something so sweet and soothing. 

That is just what he did.

His lips fell upon her in an instant, her fat bottom lip pulled between his teeth before she had any time to react. He rolled it between his teeth, savoring the feeling of soft flesh caught between something so hard. She did not hesitate to return the effort. 

Gloved hands cradled his neck, fingers absently tracing the lines of lyrium beneath the skin. Skin-to-skin contact was preferable, nothing could replace it, but in their urgency, this would do.

He released her lip and began to search for her tongue, but was greeted warmly by her own eager tongue. His hands, previously at her hips to pull him closer to her, were now wound tightly into her hair. Tugging, gripping, _feeling_ the silky raven locks as if he would never feel anything again. He was mindful of the sharp tips of his gauntlets, his every move dictated by his refusal to hurt her in any way. Hawke would enjoy it, certainly. But that was not what this was about. This was about expressing love, making up for what felt like ages of neglect, but was truly a dire and feral relief that, _no, Siggy was not dead and every moment shared that came before this would never feel like enough in the face of almost losing her._ This was not a wild chase for pleasure and release.

“I almost lost you,” Fenris whispered hoarsely. Hawke’s frantic breathes felt cold across his wet lips.

“You didn’t,” she reminded him and dove back into the kiss. The pair basked in the joy of the kiss for a brief moment before Fenris pulled back, his hands framing her face.

“Yes, but I almost _did_ , Siggy.” he growled. He saved her first name for moments of extreme emotion or when she was being egregiously unreasonable. At this moment, both criteria were satisfied.

Hawke bit her lip, her eyes on the ground to avoid meeting his gaze. He knew what she was doing, what she was trying to hold back. Tears, acceptance, reality. She was not him. Her emotions, on the outward appearance, had always been more subdued. Years of time together showed him that was not the blatant truth. What he had seen for so long was what she wanted him to see. Even now, a near decade of knowing each other, loving each other either from afar or up close, he still only saw what she had permitted him to see. There were times, however, that he saw the ocean of hardly contained uncertainty and emotion. 

Now was one of those times.

Fenris never pushed and this time was no different. 

“You are safe, my love,” he cooed, running his thumb over her top lip. The dip of her cupid’s bow was his most favorite shape in the entire world.

Siggy returned to him, her eyes glittering with tears. She smiled and pressed her forehead to his. The feel of her warmth was intoxicating. Fenris fought with every fiber of his being to fend off the thoughts of her body cold and lifeless. 

The passion and urgency had not receded, but it had dampened. His lips did not itch to be pressed against every inch of her anymore, though he longed to climb inside her and rest there for a time. 

A kiss was pressed to his forehead, the place between his brows, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips. Her kisses were slow, rich in tenderness and care. His arms encased her, pulled her into him as much as he physically could. 

That is when someone cleared their throat.

“Uh…are you two done?” 

They parted instantly, his skin prickling with Hawke’s magical energy. His hand flew to the hilt of his blade.

But it was remarkably anti-climactic, for all that stood there were three shitheads and a dog. Varric, Isabela, Merrill, and the creature Hawke so lovingly doted on peered back at them with varying arrays of emotions.

Varric looked slightly like he didn’t want to be there, his temples being massaged as if he had a headache. Isabela had the nastiest smirk on her face and her eyes were filled amusement. Merrill looked as if she’d just watched the Maker himself descend from heaven and offer her a spot at his side. Ser Dick, the mabari, looked as stupid as ever. 

Hawke made a sound that resembled a screech and the fireball in her hand snapped away. _“What the fuck?”_ she cried.

“We were wondering when you two were going to realize,” Varric said, “I would’ve ended this sooner if the Mistress of Absolute Deviousness had not forced me to let shit unfold.”

Fenris turned away from them to shield his smile. But he was wracked with laughter he could not hide. Hawke gasped and lightly slapped his shoulder.

“You think this is funny?” she questioned.

He did not answer because he could not. To open his mouth now would be to unleash uncontrollable laughter.

“And you three: what in the fuck are you doing here?” she continued.

“Living vicariously through you two, sweet thing,” Isabela teased.

“I enjoyed it!” Merrill exclaimed, “I thought it was very lovely. I wish someone would kiss me like that...”

“You’re all pigs, the whole lot of you!” Hawke shouted.

Hawke was not averse to disclosing details of her love life, or any life for that matter, but that was strictly on her terms. This was not on her terms apparently. However, Fenris knew she was not as upset as she seemed. A clear sign of her affection was to harass the ones she loved. What was a true relationship if you could not lovingly yank the chain?

“Harsh words, Hawke. I might go home and cry,” Varric said.

“Or write a book about it,” Fenris countered.

“Exactly!” cheered Varric, “Lighten up. I can’t believe Broody’s the one cracking jokes about this and you’re the one operating on primal rage.”

“I joke about a lot of things, dwarf,” Fenris informed him.

Isabela’s features contorted. “Eh. Debatable.” she murmured. 

“Out!” Hawke shouted with the wrath of a slighted mother, “All of you: vacate! Except for you Ser Dick.”

Merrill frowned. “I found it rather moving. What all you said...you look like you’re in dire need of a hug,” she whispered.

Hawke’s stern persona dropped as she pulled the elf into her arms. Merrill giggled and squeezed her tightly. She eyed Fenris for a moment, in her emerald eyes a question of consent. He threw out an arm in approval.

She quickly charged him, her arms wrapping around his trunk and holding him in that way he could tolerate. 

Varric and Isabela both protested rather loudly but were on their way to the door regardless. Merrill had oh so kindly opened it for them and stood outside, examining the latest potted plant to sit outside Hawke estate and waiting for them.

Siggy practically pushed them out the door and slammed it in their faces. With the door shut, she pressed herself up against it and sighed.

The smile that split Fenris’ face was slowly building as he examined her. When she finally opened her eyes, she was defiant at first. Content to glare away his amusement. But it did not work. She was not known for keeping a straight face in any situation whatsoever. 

Eventually, a smile of her own split her face and the pair were laughing like children.

“I didn’t even get why they were here,” Hawke cackled.

“It doesn’t matter, they now know that no matter the problem, it is always wise to knock at the Hawke Estate.” Fenris teased.

And they always did.


End file.
